


The Charm of Warfare in 140 Characters or Less

by dapatty



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Community: no_tags, Fluff and Crack, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-17
Updated: 2013-01-17
Packaged: 2017-11-27 05:29:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/658490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dapatty/pseuds/dapatty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Jibes taken from actual author insults and reworked for my own ends.  Many thanks and ♥ for my darling <a href="ao3.org/users/s0ckpupp3t">s0ckpupp3t</a> for her beta skills and for the polish and shine.</p>
    </blockquote>





	The Charm of Warfare in 140 Characters or Less

**Author's Note:**

> Jibes taken from actual author insults and reworked for my own ends. Many thanks and ♥ for my darling [s0ckpupp3t](ao3.org/users/s0ckpupp3t) for her beta skills and for the polish and shine.

The whole debacle started with a tweet.

But before that it really started with Pete literally running into Gabe at some industry conference. The dude was small and compact and Gabe could see ink peeking out from the v-neck of his sweater. Gabe wanted to see what was under the shirt. Wanted to taste it. Wanted to see if he could fuck him over any number of surfaces.

Gabe’s hands caught him by his shoulders to keep him from falling over. Before he could say anything, tiny dude--who looked so familiar but Gabe couldn’t quite put his finger on it was a mess of flailing and pulling out of Gabe’s grasp and telling him to “Fuck off, Saporta, you shitty conversationalist.”

This gave Gabe pause. Gabe knew himself to be an excellent conversationalist. Even here at this conference, and Gabe hated talking to industry reps. He’d much rather talk to actual people who were out there reading his stuff. Those were _his_ people. People who were unabashedly unashamed of enjoying werewolves with their smut and plot with their porn. They were fun and lively and didn’t have shitty wine at any of their parties. Unlike the Hachette party the other night, which Gabe was pretty sure had served something only slightly above Franzia and below Barefoot on the wine scale. Don’t get him wrong, he could schmooze and rub elbows with the best of them, even if he was running on chalky merlot. He was fucking charming and _really_ good at talking, chatting, and generally carrying on conversation with anyone he met.

Except, apparently, this dude, who had some gross misrepresentation of Gabe in his head.

“Beg your pardon,” Gabe lifted an eyebrow. He wasn’t insulted or even pissed off, yet. In his experience, a vast array of misunderstandings could be linked to shitty wine.

“Move it, you hack,” the dude pulled away and aha! It was Pete Wentz. The newest darling of the written word, or at least they loved him in Tribeca before he made the Times best-seller list. Gabe thought that there was a lot of flash surrounding him, but he could see the gleam of sincerity underneath. The need for finding a more-real and better truth, and the search for figuring out what it’s all about, all with a post-ironic subtext that was kind of fascinating, even if it was a little depressing.

Gabe could kind of see where Pete was coming from with that hack jibe, but he was still a little insulted. Gabe worked hard for his art. Yes, his art had a lot of bodice-clad, plucky heroines, and men who turned into monsters, and more often than not, the two would meet for heaving bosoms and hard cocks. And yes, he couldn’t even stick with that, he had to mix it up with same-sex pairings and occasional bits of drama, and he loved it. He enjoyed writing that. He loved giving an outlet and escapism for anyone that picked up one of his paperbacks. He was proud of it, he was popular, and it earned him a decent living. And here’s this little celebrated genius who writes McSweeney’s-worthy hipster downers calling him a hack.

Fuck that noise.

“Pete,” someone said behind him and Gabe looked up to see Mikey Way. Mikey was one of those cats that was everywhere and somehow knew everything, somehow stayed cool as fuck and untouched by fame, stupidity, or drama. Gabe loved Mikeyway, although maybe a little less right now, what with the apparently knowing Pete Wentz thing.

Gabe frowned.

“Fine,” Pete said, and let Mikey drag him away.

“At least you’ve read enough of my shit to call me a hack,” Gabe called and couldn’t exactly figure out why. Aside from the part where Pete Wentz -- who had been called his generation’s witty Peter Pan, who is seemingly impenetrable by the press, who both stonewalls the media while being unabashedly honest on the internet -- has read Gabe’s shit. Gabe was a little bit flattered. Still insulted, mind you, but flattered. Yeah.

Pete’s face was caught between a scowl and a smile, which he quickly frowned to cover. Mikey almost looked amused as he tugged Pete’s sweater to pull them both away into the masses.

Anyway, that’s how Gabe ended up in a twitter war with Pete fucking Wentz.

*****

_@petewentz_ An enthusiasm for @gabesaporta is the mark of a decidedly primitive reflection.

 _@gabesaporta_ @petewentz wishes he were as creative as some of the more inspired of my ‘primitive’ reflections. Yes, I’m referring to blowjobs.

 _@petewentz_ @gabesaporta should know that the art of writing is about allusion and not about vulgarity.

 _@gabesaporta_ In point of style, it’s hard to imagine anything worse than @petewentz - but I guess people like him, so I better stock up on #PBR.

 _@gabesaporta_ <<@petewentz’s writing is ugliness and awkwardness incarnate and, what’s worse, sadly devoid of cock.

 _@petewentz_ Nobody can be more clownish, more clumsy and licentiously in bad taste as @gabesaporta.

 _@gabesaporta_ You’re just googling author’s insults from the long forgotten and making them your own now. Thought I was the pithy thief between us. :(

 _@petewentz_ Yet, you don’t refute it, and you’re hardly pithy.

 _@gabesaporta_ Thou warped tardy-gaited skainsmate.

 _@gabesaporta_ Thou tottering rump-fed miscreant.

 _@gabesaporta_ Thou artless elf-skinned flap-dragon

 _@petewentz_ Are you really using the Shakespeare insult generator? Knew you couldn’t have an original thought.

 _@gabesaporta_ @petewentz is still a fobbing earth-vexing codpiece.

******

The twitter war went on for weeks, much to the glee of Gabe, who couldn’t stop talking about it to Victoria.

“Dude, this is a blast!” Gabe said. “Why didn’t I get into a flame war ages ago?”

“Gabe, as your publicist and friend, and I say this with love,” Victoria said, “you really should knock it off. Your fanbase are a lot of crazy girls with twitter followings of their own. I really don’t want you to break the internet over this.”

“This? What do you mean by this? ‘This’ is nothing. This is not-so-friendly fire between novelists,” Gabe explained.

“You like him, don’t you?” Victoria said knowingly. She looked both amused and displeased at the same time.

“What?! No.” Gabe scoffed. “Pfft. Absolutely not. He’s stupid and has insufferable hair.”

“I bet he says the same thing about you,” Victoria said dryly, giving a look at her nails.

“I am insufferable and have _stupidly awesome_ hair. There’s a difference, Vicky-T.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” Victoria rolled her eyes and sighed.

Gabe rattled away at the keys of his laptop. “Huh. That’s weird.”

“What?” Victoria asked, despite knowing better. All of Gabe’s friends knew that asking him ‘what’ was to go down a dangerous road, one often involving luminescent drinks and the wearing of neon, not to mention the glitter and strobelights.

“He hasn’t at-replied me. It’s been 3 hours.” Gabe turned the screen to show her. “He always replies at me within an hour, even when he’s on a plane and at the whims of horrible wi-fi. Something’s wrong.”

“Honey, maybe he just got tired of your bullshit.” Victoria gave Gabe a patient look.

“If that was true, this wouldn’t have made it past the first day,” he pointed out.

Victoria sighed and muttered something about _stupid boys not being able to just say ‘hey, let’s go out, I like you’ and trying to turn all of her hair gray before she even gets married. Idiots._

“What was that, love? Are you going to go all managerial on my ass now?”

“As your manager I would say to leave it the hell alone and stop this nonsense. People, meaning everyone who doesn’t already read your books--which, may I remind you, are a lot of people--are gonna get tired of it. It stopped being threatening or interesting after two days. It stopped being remotely charming after 3. It has reached the point of silliness.” Victoria said, stern-faced.

“Now as my friend,” Gabe looked at her calmly. He loved her ability to not take his shit.

“Call Mikeyway if you’re so worried. That kid knows everybody. I will not do your dirty work for you. Get this out of your system so I can stop worrying about you. You _are_ starting to worry me.”

“I love you, Vicky-T. You know that, right?” Gabe asked seriously.

She smiled at him. “Yeah, babe,” she leaned down and kissed the top of his head. “I know. Now call Mikey and leave me completely out of the clusterfuck you’re about to have. I’ll fix it later.”

“You always do.” He beamed at her as she left the apartment. He picked up his cell.

******

_@petewentz_ Sometimes, even your worst enemies are unexpectedly kind. #colddayinhell #chickensoup

 _@gabesaporta_ Soup has been alleged to be good for the soul. That’s my papa’s recipe btw. #evensnowballshavechances

******

It ended at another industry event. No, actually, that’s where the proper beginning happened.

Pete was across the room, standing pretty much alone in a corner, looking a little awkward, but oddly beautiful in the ambient light. His edges were all softened and he looked bored. Gabe met his eye and Pete gave him a nod and Gabe smiled. He made his way across the room snagging them both flutes of champagne on his way. He stopped just short of Pete and reached out a glass.

“Saporta,” Pete nodded his thanks and took the glass.

“Wentz,” Gabe said agreeably, taking a sip. The bubbles tickled his nose. If Pete was gonna play cool, Gabe could play cool. He was the pinnacle of cool. One ice-cold motherfucker.

“Thanks for the soup delivery,” Pete said after a few minutes. “It was unexpected. And nice.”

“I’m almost surprised that you can find it within yourself to be grateful for anything I could give you,” Gabe said teasingly. He figured they were at that point where he could tease and flirt and get away with it. He’d kind of been flirting this whole time, to be honest, and playing it cool was totally overrated.  
.  
“I can be a gentleman of some character, despite what your previous impression of me might indicate,” Pete smiled sweetly.

“I noticed.” Gabe grinned. “Now, I’ll warn you, I’m about to be as smarmy as you thought.”

“If you’re about to ask me back to your place, then fuck yes, please.” Pete grinned at him. Gabe only barely refrained from pumping his fist into the air victoriously.

“Glad you’re on board,” Gabe beamed.

They left the party early. Gabe knew that Pete would look gorgeous flushed, with sex hair and a sheen of sweat clinging to all his tattoos that Gabe got to taste, leaving a few hickeys for good measure. In fact, he might have to write about it later. Gabe sucked Pete off and Pete was loud and wordless, music to Gabe’s ears. Pete jerked Gabe off talking of the increasingly filthy things they could get up to, hot and panting promises for next time. Gabe knew they’d have a next time. He was keeping Pete, and that was that.

******

Gabe woke to the sound of his phone chirping. He fumbled for it, blindly knocking off the lube bottle from the night before and a box of condoms.

Wait.

He cracked an eye open. Pete was there. Propped on one elbow and looking like he wanted to laugh at Gabe. His sex hair was insufferably amazing and curling a little around the nape of his neck.

"Hi," Gabe grinned and Gabe's phone buzzed again.

"You might want to see about that," Pete suggested, face full of mirth.

"With a hot guy in my bed? It can wait." Gabe said, pulling Pete down for a kiss.

When he checked his phone after, Pete had sent him a tweet. It was what had awoken him.

 _@petewentz_ it's a beautiful morning in Brooklyn, bedhead, pillow creases, and all.

 _@gabesaporta_ my pillow-creased face is dead sexy.

 _@petewentz_ truth.

They ended up breaking their own little corner of the Internet after all, much to Vicky T's dismay and Mikey's quiet nod of approval.


End file.
